


Hand in Glove

by acommontater



Series: The College/trans!Blayne 'verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Trans!Blaine, but actuallly, trans!blayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4415417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acommontater/pseuds/acommontater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting a family is easier for some than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand in Glove

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive my lack of knowledge about the adoption system, please. Title is from ‘In A Little While’ from Once Upon A Mattress. (Which is a pretty funny musical- especially if you like a laugh at Matty Fresh’s expense. Which I absolutely did not do I don’t know what you’re talking about.)
> 
> kristinelovegood prompted me to write a fluffy mtf!Blaine piece/filler scene, so I wrote a one-shot that kinda fills in another possible future scene from my college!verse, but can be read alone.

Kurt bursts through the front door of their apartment, hanging his coat up haphazardly.

“Blayne?” He toes off his shoes hastily, half tripping over himself to get down the hall. “Honey?”

“I’m in the kitchen.” Blayne calls.

He walks down the hallway and finds her sitting at the kitchen table, staring down at the manilla envelope in front of her.

“I didn’t want to open it without you.” She says, looking up. “I couldn’t, I mean, I didn’t…” She shoves the envelope in his direction. “You open it, oh my God, I’ve been staring at the stupid thing for nearly an hour.”

Kurt steps forward and gingerly picks up the unassuming rectangle of papers. He grabs a (clean) spare butter knife from the table and slits the envelope open. He forces his hands to stay steady as he pulls the sheet of paper out.

He doesn’t get any farther than 'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hummel…“ before thrusting the paper at Blayne.

"You read it. I can’t. You do it.”

Blayne takes the paper and closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, opens them, and starts to read.

Kurt bites his lip nervously, watching Blayne’s face as she reads. She finishes and claps a hand over her mouth.

“Well? What does it say?” Kurt shifts from foot to foot anxiously.

Blayne doesn’t answer him, just hands him the letter, the half of her face that isn’t covered by her hand impassive. Kurt snatches the letter up.

“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hummel, We are pleased to inform you that you have been approved for moving ahead in your adoption process. Formal instructions, licenses and paperwork will be forwarded to you shortly. For further consultation please contact any of the…”

There is a list of social workers and their contact information under that, and then more information further down, but Kurt doesn’t see it. He goes back to the beginning. Reads it again.

Again.

Again.

“Kurt?” Blayne puts a hesitant hand on his arm. “You okay?”

Kurt breathes in suddenly, oddly loud to his ears. Oh, he’s crying, that’s why Blayne’s worried.

He drops the letter onto the table and pulls her into a tight hug. She tucks her chin up over his shoulder and clutches him back just as tightly.

“We’re gonna be parents.” Kurt whispers. “Blayne, we can have a kid.”

Blayne lets out a half sob/half gasp and just like that the hanging moment drops them back to earth.

“We’re gonna be parents, Blayne!”

Kurt pulls back slightly, giddy with happiness, and scoops Blayne up in his arms, spinning her around. She laughs and wipes at the few fat tears that have trickled down her cheeks.

“Put me down, you.” She bats at Kurt’s shoulder.

He twirls them around twice more before letting her slide down and rests her toes on top of his feet. Lacing their fingers together in one hand, and settling the other low on her hip, he leads them in a slow, tuneless waltz around the tiny kitchen. Blayne leaves her left arm curled around Kurt’s neck and leans in against him, resting her head on his chest.

They drift in slow circles, Kurt sometimes humming low in his throat. They bask in the sweet honey-thick air of happiness, pulling it out and letting it linger as long as possible.

Tomorrow they’ll call one of the suggested social workers and arrange a meeting, and talk, and deal with endless amounts of paperwork and stress after that- but for now, they dance around their kitchen and dream of their someday-child.


End file.
